Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing.

Il Mio Santuario

Rossella Maxwell placed the colander in the sink and opened the window. Hesitantly, she held out her willowy hand over the fiori, splashes of bright color in full mid-summer bloom. As the tall, dark-haired woman waited with hand outstretched, the smell of steaming pasta drew her eight-year-old son to the kitchen. The violet-eyed youth, noting his mother's distraction, quickly snuck over to the table and silently pilfered a rigatoni.

A drop of water landed on Rossella's palm with a splash, and she shook it off, withdrew her hand, and closed the window. "Enrico," she sighed. "Don't go to Feli's house today, va bene? It's going to rain..."

Rossella turned around just as Enrico was about to stuff another rigatoni into his mouth. Caught in the act, there was nothing the child could do but stand there, smiling innocently. Rossella laughed, and tenderly wiped a stray bit of ricotta off of her son's cheek. "Try to wait until dinner, mio piccolo ladro," she said jokingly.

Enrico blushed; he didn't like it much when his mother called him her little thief. "Si, Mamma. I... I was just making sure they tasted okay."

Rossella smiled knowingly. "Of course you were. Hold on, I'll have the sauce ready soon."

Rossella was a single mother, and everyone in their neighborhood knew it; however, no one ever said so to Enrico. Rossella didn't want her son to grow up thinking he was any worse than anyone else because his father was married to another woman, so she told him that his father had gone off to fight in the war and never returned. The family's neighbors pitied Rossella, so they never made any effort to abolish this fantasy. As for little Enrico, he never thought much about his father. As far as he was concerned he'd never had one, and this didn't bother him in the slightest. Nor did it ever cross his mind that he looked nothing like his mother; she was his mamma, she loved him more than anything else, and that was enough for both of them.

Enrico sat at the table patiently and waited for his food. Rossella's cooking was the best anyone in the neighborhood had ever tasted, and Enrico lorded this over his friend Feliciano like some boys lord over their father's burliness. The two boys were thick as thieves, and they spent so much time at each other's houses that they each had their own key to the other's house. Enrico had wanted to go over to Feli's house after supper, but it seemed his mother wasn't going to let him.

He played with his fork absentmindedly. "Why does it have to rain?" he grumbled. "I mean, other than making things grow. Plants can just get water from the ground, can't they?"

Rossella carried the saucepan over to the table and began layering the sauce over the rigatoni. "Well, it rains because of the angels," she said.

Enrico looked up, confused. "The angels?"

Rossella nodded. "Si, the angels. Whenever it rains, that means the angels are crying."

"Oh." Enrico started putting rigatoni onto his plate. "Why are they crying?"

Rossella pulled out a chair and sat down. "They're crying for all the lonely boys and girls who don't have parents, or a nice home to live in. They're all very, very sad."

Enrico started cutting his food into sections. "I'm glad I'm not alone."

Rossella smiled tenderly. "Me too."

Suddenly, someone began violently banging on the door. Rossella stood up to go open it. "Now who could that be..?"

"Open up, Rossella!" a man screamed from outside. "Open this door now, puttana! You filthy adultero!"

Rossella gasped, but did not cry out. Enrico stood up. "Mamma, what's wrong?" As his mother turned to face him, Enrico noticed that tears were rolling down her cheeks. "Mamma, why are you crying?"

Rossella shushed her son, opened the cupboard under the sink, and placed him inside. "Enrico, no matter what happens, you must stay in here and not make a noise, capire?"

The banging increased ferociously. "Rossella, I know you're in there! Open up now or I will tear this door down!"

Enrico nodded. "Mamma, I'm scared."

Rossella held him in her arms. "Ssh, don't be scared. Everything will be alright."

She closed the cupboard doors and hurried over to open the door. It was pouring now, and as soon as she undid the latch, the door flew open to reveal a tall man, well-dressed, and soaked through. Enrico opened the cupboard door just a crack, enough so he could see what has going on. The man had silver hair, violet eyes, and carried an expensive suitcase that suggested he was a lawyer, and well-to-do at that. As soon as the door was open, he stormed into the little house and slammed the door behind him. His face was red, and he smelled like liquor.

"Rossella!" he screamed. "You have ruined me, do you hear? Ruined me! Do you have any idea what my wife did to me when she found out?"

"Arturo," Rossella replied fearfully, attempting to calm the man down. "Please relax. I have just made dinner, perhaps you would like some-"

"Shut up!" Arturo screamed, and slapped her across the face. "Where's the brat, puttana? Where is he? Tell me! Tell me, puttana!"

"What brat?" Rossella gasped, cradling her cheek. "There is no child here."

"Lies!" Arturo hefted his suitcase and bludgeoned her with it.

Enrico, too afraid to cry out, watched with wide eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks as the drunken man continued beat Rossella with his suitcase. "Aiuto," he sobbed. "Aiuto, Gesu!"

Rossella fell to the floor, and Arturo started kicking her. Blood was seeping from her head where the corner of the suitcase had broken the skin; Arturo was beating her to death.

"Get up, puttana!" he screamed. "Get up or die!"

Rossella writhed on the floor, helpless before Arturo's endless barrage. She strained and twisted her head around to face the cupboard in which her son was hiding. Her eyes met his, and she smiled weakly before mouthing the words, 'I love you'. Then she closed her eyes, let her head rest on the floor, and became still.

Arturo, however, continued to beat the body. When he finally realized Rossella was dead, he let out a feral howl and stormed out of the house just as quickly as he had come.

Enrico did not move for several minutes. He simply trembled in the darkness of the cupboard, crying pitifully. After a bit of time, he slowly opened the cupboard door and crawled out. Making his way over to his mother's body, he picked up her bloodied head and cradled it in his arms.

"Aiuto!" he wailed. "Aiuto!" Weeping, Enrico lay down on the floor and rested his head next to his mother's. "I don't want to be alone," he whispered.

-XXXXX-

Three weeks later, Enrico sat in the backseat of a black car. The aging priest he'd met at the courtroom, Father Renaldo, sat on the seat next to him, casting him the occasional fatherly glance every five miles or so. Enrico ignored him and sullenly cradled his knees to his chest.

It had stopped raining a couple of hours after what was now being referred to by the adults around Enrico as "the incident". Feliciano (or "Witness A") had decided to come over to his friend's house to play. Finding the door locked, he'd unlocked it with his key and found Enrico whimpering on the floor next to "the body". He'd immediately run home and brought his mother, who used the Maxwell's phone to call the police. The sergeant had ripped Enrico away from "the body", mumbling something about "contaminating the evidence", and driven him to the police station, where he'd stayed until the trial had ended and they'd found something to do with him.

After about a twenty-five minute drive, the car stopped and the occupants got out. Enrico stood before the driveway to a large building, and a sign that read "Ferdinant Lukes". Waiting to meet him was another priest he'd met at the courtroom; Father Anderson, if he remembered correctly. The man smiled at him, but Enrico didn't smile back.

Father Renaldo came up behind him and gently guided him towards the orphanage. "This is you new 'home'," he said.

Enrico didn't bother to answer him. In a couple of steps, he was standing before Father Anderson. The man was unnaturally tall, and he scared Enrico a little. But the eight-year-old wasn't really capable of being truly afraid of anything anymore, so he stood up tall and looked the priest square in the eye.

"Might the reason I am here," he asked slowly, "and the reason that father and mother do not come get me, be because I am the son of a mistress?"